


thread by thread i come apart

by timelxrd



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, PWP, Smut, thasmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: Drawing herself back to level deep brown with gold-dusted emerald, the Doctor wets her lips, hesitating for only a moment before she seeks out Yaz’s own. “Help me forget.”
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 73





	thread by thread i come apart

The blue hues and navy shadows of the corridors and adjoining console room are an unwelcome change when Yaz ventures, quiet in her concern, towards the expansive room in question. 

Two hours have passed since her girlfriend had promised to join her for some much-needed rest, so, clad in an oversized teal jumper and a pair of pyjama shorts, Yaz pads into the console room in search of the alien she calls her own. “Doctor?” she tries upon entrance, feet falling soft and silent on the grated metal steps. 

With one knee tucked up to her chest while the other has slumped over the edge of the door and into empty space (quite literally), the Doctor seeks solace in the stars birthing and burning before her. “I’m here, Yaz,” she murmurs, observing the way oxygen turns from an invisible exhale to water vapour, but appears as smoke in the cool night air. 

When Yaz sinks into the space beside her, keeping a respectable distance until the Doctor glances to her side pointedly, she takes in red, puffy eyes in muted alarm. A caring  _ are you okay?  _ seems somewhat useless at this time, so she simply reaches for one of the hands curled around her knee. She slips her fingers into the gaps the Doctor grants her, lowering their joined hands to her lap so she can brush her thumb over her knuckles in a soothing caress she usually utilises when her girlfriend wakes up in pools of sweat in the middle of the night. 

Weighted gaze casting towards the swirl of dark blues and purples, Yaz’s voice is quiet in the depths of space. “Where are we?”

“Bode’s Galaxy in the constellation of Ursa Major,” the Doctor answers quietly, seeking out the slow patter of Yaz’s pulse when her thumb moves to the inside of her wrist. Safe in the knowledge she’s still there, still alive, still living, she relaxes into her side. “Twelve million lightyears away from home.” 

Yaz turns to regard her when her ghosting touch brushes her wrist, observing steady emerald as it scans between star and meteor as if counting their presence and saving it to that giant brain of hers. “Yours or mine?” 

“Yours,” she replies, voice a whisper. Before Yaz can take notice of the fresh sheen coating her eyelids, the Doctor twists, forehead coming to rest against her shoulder while she heaves a sigh. “Mine’s —”  _ Gone. Burnt to the ground along with any existence of my people by the one person I believed had changed for the better.  _ “ — a lot further away.” 

She can hear the churning of cogs in Yaz’s brain when she sinks into her side, slipping her hand free if only to curl around her waist and all but coil around her like the baby Chanula’s they’d encountered a day previous; an even cuddlier and friendlier descendant of Earth’s Koala. 

It had taken all that Ryan had in him not to adopt one on the spot, despite the species’ taste for spiders and moths. 

“I’m not going to push, Doctor,” Yaz murmurs, the sound resonating through her throat when the Doctor nestles her nose there, shifting her position. “But please let me know how I can help? I hate seeing you like this, especially when I don’t know how to ease whatever pain, whatever loss, whatever  _ anger  _ you’re going through.” 

Drawing herself back to level deep brown with gold-dusted emerald, the Doctor wets her lips, hesitating for only a moment before she seeks out Yaz’s own. “Help me forget.” 

The words are so broken, so pleading, so weighted, that when soft, cool lips mould against her own, she doesn’t respond right away. 

But then the Doctor makes a needy, keening little sound and she’s putty in her hands. 

Yaz is cautious and careful when she presses her girlfriend down onto the sheets of their bed a short time later, sans shirt, boots and fluffy blue socks. She holds her as though she’s made of glass, likely to fissure and crack with so much as a little extra pressure. 

The Doctor picks up on it with pink cheeks and a heaving chest when Yaz’s mouth descends on her throat, but no searing, biting kisses come, only gentle caresses and light pressure. 

“I’m not going to break,” she whispers, gliding capable hands through dark tresses to draw her girlfriend back into a kiss.  _ Not when I’m already broken _ , she wants to add, chest and throat tight with unwelcome emotion. 

“I know,” Yaz hums into her mouth, tongue swiping past her lips to explore the crooks of her teeth and the curve of her own tongue. When she nips ever so lightly at her bottom lip, she earns a stifled moan and a squirm of lithe hips, which jump up to meet hers. “I’m just winding you up slowly so I can draw you away from that pesky brain of yours for longer.”

The Doctor sighs against her, lashes fluttering when Yaz pulls back to sit up in her lap and peel away her jumper and bear a deliciously naked torso. 

Impulse control nonexistent, the Doctor leans up, arms encircling her hips while kisses melt warm and sure against Yaz’s chest. “You’re wonderful,” she breathes against dusky flesh, tongue flitting and circling in lazy motions. “Absolutely wonderful.”

Swallowing, Yaz cards her fingers through the Doctor’s hair, holding her in place while working to entice the sorts of happy purrs which help her sleep at night. There’s a spot just behind her ear where shorter hairs pass through her fingers and, if she scratches enough, the Doctor sags against her in hazy bliss. She coaxes it from her, now, and smiles when the Doctor’s lips falter against a dusky nipple. “Right back at you, sweetheart.”

Pupils hazy, the Doctor simply gazes at her girlfriend in quiet appreciation when Yaz pushes her back just enough to unclasp and discard her rainbow-dusted sports bra, then reach between them to undo her blue trousers. 

She has to climb off of her so they can each wriggle free from their bottoms, then their underwear — the Doctor’s an adorable matching set with her bra. 

The blonde has the audacity to blush when Yaz shuffles back towards her, but when she leans up on her knees to slip back into her lap, the Doctor surprises her.

Palms taking purchase on her hips, the Doctor leans in to press her lips to her stomach, making a slow journey towards the apex of her thighs where she opens her mouth to take her in. 

Keening little sounds melting against her core, Yaz gasps, curling her fingers back through blonde locks to guide her  _ right a bit _ to where she needs it most. When a pink, wriggling tongue glides over her obediently, Yaz moans, high and breathy, eyes closing. “Good — so good. Well done,” she praises, certainly not deaf to the way the Doctor’s soft noises increase in pitch. 

By the time her lashes flutter open again, the Doctor has slipped a hand between her own legs and is circling her clit with her index finger, hips twitching. A particularly well-angled swipe of her tongue makes Yaz slump forward slightly, so when her girlfriend pries her mouth away to wriggle around and lie on her back with Yaz still hovering over her face, she falters slightly, knees trembling. 

“Down,” the Doctor whispers, palms moving around to her backside to give a playful squeeze. When she licks her lips, the motion is audible. 

Understanding, Yaz lowers herself until a warm mouth engulfs her once more, pitching forward so her own lips can seal around the Doctor’s clit and flatten her tongue over the swollen flesh. The position is new but rewarding, and although she can’t see her face, she can hear her moans against her clit when she copies her actions. 

Wound up already, it’s only a matter of time before Yaz ends up simply panting against the Doctor’s thigh, tongue swirling in distracted little motions against her clit while her talented girlfriend drags her orgasm ever closer. 

In a last-ditch attempt, Yaz draws her hand down from where it clutches at her hip to gather her over her fingers and sink one into her core, where it wriggles and squirms enough to make her gasp out a moan against her clit, increasing her pace. 

She closes her teeth and tongue over the inside of the Doctor’s thigh while her finger thrusts and drags against her walls, her own hips shuddering when instead of the solid presence of digits, the Doctor’s tongue dips into her core to swirl and crook inside her. “Oh my —  _ ungh, Doctor _ .” 

The Doctor’s breathy little giggle almost sends her reeling, toes curling just shy of her ears while she holds off the inevitable. 

“You gonna—?” the Doctor mumbles against her, dragging her tongue back only to delve ever deeper, hands firm on the swell of her hips so there’s no way for her to wriggle free. 

Yaz groans against the reddish-purple mark now gracing her girlfriend’s thigh, her hot, clammy forehead pressed against her trembling form while she shakes with the beginning of a powerful orgasm. “ _ Doctor.” _

Picking up on her desperate tone, however muffled, the Doctor finally focuses her attention back on her clit, closing her mouth to suck reverently at the dark flesh while she guides her hips to use her tongue for all it’s worth. “Please.”

The murmured request is enough to tip her over, and with a tell-tale series of squirms followed by strong thighs clamping around her head, Yaz comes apart against her mouth and renders the Doctor’s mind full of her scent and her taste. 

When Yaz eventually blinks back into reality with a sigh and moves to close her mouth around the Doctor’s clit in return, her girlfriend squeezes gently at her hip to grasp her attention. “Yaz.”

Shuffling off of her to turn and catch her gaze, Yaz melts under the proud little smirk on her dampened lips. She leans in, granting a taste of herself when she graces her bottom lip with her tongue. The Doctor moans into her mouth, hips twitching, but reaches for Yaz’s hand when it slips between her legs as though to pause her. 

“What do you want, babe?” Yaz purrs as she draws back, ducking her head to press a tender kiss to her earlobe, then swirl her tongue until her girlfriend shivers. 

“Inside,” the Doctor whispers, head tipping to the side to encourage more attention to her ear and neck. 

But again, when Yaz’s hand follows the slope of her stomach to the glistening heat between her legs, the Doctor stops her with a hum. “Please, baby. You said—” 

“I mean,” the Doctor sighs, shuddering when Yaz’s lips part just behind her ear, tongue dancing over the sensitive flesh and forcing her mind to go blank. “Uh — nnf— I want the —  _ thething _ .”

Stifling her amusement against the Doctor’s sweet spot, Yaz hums her comprehension until her girlfriend shoots her a flustered glare. 

A minute later, the Doctor watches on, lips parted and jaw slack, as Yaz nudges her knees gently apart and settles comfortably between her legs, the pale pink toy glistening with her arousal as she lines up and guides it into place. 

She reaches out to grasp her shoulders when she starts sinking into the space between her thighs, filling her slowly and carefully until her brain checks out and she simply focuses on the delicious pressure already building in her core. 

A tender kiss melts against the crease between her brows when Yaz’s hips come to rest against her girlfriend’s thighs and, lost in bliss, the Doctor sighs out her next exhale. 

“You take me so well,” Yaz hums, resting over her to cradle her head between her hands when she draws her hips back again in a slow roll. 

She gets a breathy moan by way of response, the Doctor’s nails carving crescents into her skin as she starts up a slow rhythm sure to leave her girlfriend keening and purring in no time. 

“Make — make me forget,” the Doctor echoes her words from earlier as she draws her in for a kiss, one hand buried in her hair to hold her there while her tongue invades her mouth. “Please.”

Yaz gasps into her mouth when the Doctor’s thighs cinch around her hips, coiling around her so she can take her deeper. “Anything, sweetheart.” She captures her bottom lip between pearly whites and tugs gently. “Anything for you.” 

The Doctor settles in for the long-haul, sighing and mewling and undoubtedly enjoying herself as she grips and clings at her girlfriend. She reaches down with one hand, circling her hip to drive her that much deeper on the next deep, controlled thrust. 

Face buried against the Doctor’s collarbone as she drives into her slowly but consistently, Yaz misses the flash of melancholy on her girlfriend’s face when, despite her best efforts, recent memories still tug at her subconscious. 

It doesn’t stop her pleasure from building, though, and with a needy whine, the Doctor grapples at Yaz’s backside to encourage her, her own hips raising to greet her with each roll and grind. “ _ Yaz.” _

“More, baby?” Yaz whispers, closing her teeth around her earlobe and drawing the sensitive flesh taught. The Doctor’s responding gasp encourages a repeat performance and she can feel her thighs shuddering where they’re wrapped around her hips. 

Nodding desperately, the Doctor tips her head back when Yaz drops a hand to press against her clit, circling the hypersensitive skin until she starts trembling and panting with each forward push of her hips. 

“Yaz, Yaz _ ,  _ Yaz,  _ Yaz _ ,” she gasps with each movement, scrabbling for purchase against her back and shoulders when her orgasm takes hold, rendering her breathless and squirming while her girlfriend remains in control.

Slowing down when the Doctor starts squirming, Yaz buries her face in her neck to pant against her skin, hips circling so she can remain sheathed deep just how her girlfriend usually likes before she crests. 

The slower pace leaves her half-drooling into her pillow when she turns her head to the side, breaths ragged and loud in her ears while her home planet burns behind her eyes, again and again.

“Make me — make me forget,” she whispers once more, thoughts spiralling when finally, her orgasm seeks her out and sends her into euphoria with a shaky cry. 

Yaz holds her through her release, buried to the hilt so the Doctor can pulse and flutter around the toy for a long few seconds. 

When she draws her head back from her shoulder to regard her, though, she’s shocked to find tears tumbling down her flushed cheeks and pooling under her chin. 

Drawing her hips back and hastily discarding the toy, Yaz gathers her into her arms with a gasp. “Doctor? Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

The blond slumps, spent and exhausted against her chest while she refills her lungs and holds back the burning pressure at the back of her throat. “You —” she hiccups, leaning into Yaz’s touch when she wipes at her dampened cheeks. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Yaz counters in concern, lifting the Doctor’s chin to meet her gaze seconds before she hides against her neck again. She feels a lot smaller in her arms all of a sudden, trembling for a different reason entirely than the pleasure still thrumming through her. 

“I’m okay, I’m fine,” she whispers, nose nestled against her pulse so she can anchor herself to the steady  _ thud _ she finds there. “I’ve got my Yaz.”

“You’ve got me,” Yaz reinforces, tapping out a slow, repetitive rhythm against the bottom of the Doctor’s spine while her girlfriend works to compose herself. “Sorry I couldn’t make you forget, baby.”

The Doctor sags against her, then, fresh tears falling against Yaz’s neck. “It’s — it’s okay. Thank you for trying,” she sniffs, matching her breathing to the heartbeat beneath her ear. “These things; they take time.”

“Well,” Yaz starts, pressing her lips firmly against the top of her head. “This is a time machine, Doctor.” She lifts a hand, guiding it through her hair in a familiar pattern until, relaxing, the Doctor moulds against her. “And I’m with you, whatever happens.”

With a sniff, the Doctor closes her eyes, trusting the secure hold around her and the soothing caress of fingers through her hair to coax any bad dreams from her consciousness. “Yasmin Khan,” she breathes as slumber chips away at her, cheeks no longer aiding slow streams of turmoil and despondency. “Thank you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! feedback is always appreciated!! <333


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